


In the Words of a Poet

by cowaiicrossing



Series: Quotes [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowaiicrossing/pseuds/cowaiicrossing
Summary: It was said that Mount Taal, near Tagaytay, was the shortest known active volcano, standing at a bashful 508 meters.Kuroo Tetsurou, however, had to disagree.At a modest 165.2 centimeters, Yaku Morisuke definitely had Mount Taal beat - in height and in frequency of eruptions and maybe even in damages caused, and he showed no signs of going dormant any time soon.Kuroo wondered if, like the Aztecs once believed, it would take a human sacrifice to soothe him, and if so, where did one sign up?





	1. Strike

**Author's Note:**

> Part Two of my series-in-the-making, now dedicated to less common pairings that I feel deserve more attention, this goes hand in hand with "To Quote Seneca." It can stand alone, but will include some plot and scenes from the other as the timelines overlap.  
> Enjoy!

“Do not wait to strike ‘til the iron is hot…”

. . .

Kuroo felt perhaps, maybe - _possibly_ \- this was some kind of cruel irony.  What business did Yaku Morisuke have showing up at Nekoma’s first training camp of the season any way?   _And why the hell does it even matter to you?!_

“YAKU-SAN!”

Lev cannoned across the gym, all gangly limbs and clumsy enthusiasm.  Yaku’s brow scrunched and he spun quickly, lifting one foot in the process and catching the ace-in-training with a heel to the ribs.  “Back right the fuck off,” their former libero pressed his lips into a thin line.  Kuroo flashed his teeth in a wide grin.

“Well, well, Yakkun,” he strolled over with a wave of his hand.  “You haven’t changed a bit since we graduated.”

 _Not necessarily true._  Kuroo corrected himself mentally.  It’s not like his once-rival had grown any; no, he was still rather short.  But his hair had grown just a tad longer, his shoulders just a little more relaxed.

“And you still don’t know how to comb your hair,” Yaku crossed his arm, an unimpressed smirk gracing his features.  Though the smug cock of his head didn’t give, his eyes - _have they always seemed so warm?_ \- seemed to shine.  “Really, Kuroo, you look good.  I was almost expecting you to keel over in your first university training camp.”

“Ha,” Kuroo couldn’t for the life of him figure out why his mouth was suddenly so dry.  He tried to hide it behind a cough of a laugh.  “Very funny, Yakkun.  And what about you?  I know you received a lot of volleyball scholarships, are you still playing?”

“Ah, not so much,” his gaze fell, but before he could offer any explanation the whistle blew and Coach Nekomata barked out a warm laugh.

“Lucky,” he whistled.  “To get back my two best players for our first training camp.”

Kuroo dragged his eyes from Yaku to Kenma, startled by the curious glint in his childhood friend’s eyes.

“Now,” Nekomata clapped his hands together again.  “Let’s set up some three on threes, I want to see what the first years have got.  Kuroo, Yaku, switch in and out often, and try not to get on the same team.  Let’s go!”

. . .

Somehow, despite claiming he didn’t play ‘so much,’ Yaku hadn’t lost even an ounce of his skill.  It was as frustrating as it was amazing to Kuroo.  He fell back onto the gym floor with a groan.  “Did I _ever_ have this much energy…?”

“Is your old age getting to you already?”

Kuroo opened one eye, the other soon following when he realized Yaku was standing behind his head, leaning over him with his arms crossed over his chest.  But he was just as winded, his strawberry-brunet hair plastered to his sweaty forehead.  The high schoolers were gathered around Nekomata, begging him for another few sets while he gave them their end-of-practice pep-talk.  Kenma kept glancing his way, Kuroo thought, but he never managed to catch him in the act.

“Like Oikawa would let my age slow me down,” the middle blocked finally tutted.

Yaku straightened with a snicker.  “How is that, by the way?”

Kuroo frowned, mulling over the possible answers.  How _was_ it having Oikawa as a setter?  He made a great roommate - and the fact that agreeing to room together let both of them stay out of the dorms was a massive bonus.  But he was a different person on a volleyball court than he was at home.  Before he could form any of those thoughts into a coherent response, something bumped into his side.

“You’re in the way.”  Kenma bumped him with the big broom again.  “Move.”

“Alright, alright!”  Kuroo sprang to his feet, startlingly agile.  When Kenma had passed between them, he caught Yaku’s gaze again.  “Are you busy tonight?  We could…”   _What?  We could what?_  His mouth was suddenly very dry again.

Yaku whipped his head to the side, breaking eye contact and crossing his arms more tightly.  “I am.”  He quipped.  “Busy, that is.”

“Oh.”  Kuroo pushed out the breath that had seemed stuck in his throat.  He couldn’t figure out if he was relieved or disappointed.  “I’m sure Kenma…”  His tongue faltered, growing heavy as led as Yaku’s hand whipped out and snatched his wrist.  The libero’s other hand dipped into his jacket pocket, reappearing moments later with a pen.  There was a tickling sensation across the inside of his arm, and then Yaku’s hands were gone, shoved deep into his pockets.  He wouldn’t look directly at Kuroo, his rich chocolate gaze fixated on a speck of dust Kenma must have missed.

“My new number,” he muttered.  Kuroo blinked, his eyes stretching wide as he examined the curved scribbles on his arm.  He opened his mouth, only to choke when Yaku’s foot connected with his gut.  “Make sure you wash it off before you go to practice,” he bristled, “The last thing I need is Bokuto having a way to contact me.”  With that he spun on his heel and made his exit, leaving Kuroo with a quickly rising bruise and the beginnings of a smirk playing about his lips.

“Oho…?”

. . .

“Did you ever call?”

Kuroo choked gracelessly on the piece of pizza he was trying to swallow.  Kenma’s eyes darted to the side with a touch of concern, and he balanced his controller on his knee to lean to the side and slam his hand into Kuroo’s back.  When the middle blocker had finally guzzled enough water to clear his throat and stop coughing, he turned to his best friend with watering eyes and a weak croak of, “What?”

Kenma rolled his eyes and turned back to the game they were playing.  Oikawa frequently disappeared on Saturday nights, and they had turned into a sort of unofficial weekly gaming night.  “Yaku wrote his number on your arm last week, didn’t he?”

 _Of course Kenma would have seen that, he doesn’t miss a damn thing._  Kuroo sighed.  “No.  Well, yeah, but no.  I didn’t call.”  Kenma scoffed under his breath, but didn’t say anything.  Kuroo tried to focus on the game, but eventually he couldn’t take it and paused.  “Should I?”

Unhelpfully, Kenma lifted one thin shoulder in a shrug.  “How should I know?”

“You mean you _don’t_ know everything?”  He grasped at his chest in exaggerated surprise.  Kenma only sighed.

“It seemed like he wanted you to… I guess,” Kenma reached to Kuroo’s controller and unpaused the game.  “He’s hard to read.  Sometimes.”

Kuroo let a sigh of his own pass.   _Maybe…_  He pulled his phone out and pulled up Yaku’s new contact information.  It wouldn’t do any harm to just catch up, right?

 **To: Yakkun  
** **It’s Kuroo - busy tomorrow?**

. . .

Really, Kuroo should have known better than to try to sneak out of the apartment without Oikawa noticing.  His fingers had nearly grasped the doorknob when he’d felt the setter’s wicked gaze searing into his back.

“Well, well… where is Kuro-chan off to so early in the morning?”

He turned with a resigned sigh, putting his hands up.  “You caught me.”  Oikawa held a coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other, leaning casually against the counter with a smug look about him.  “I was just on my way to see your mom.”

“BURN!”

Kuroo nearly jumped straight out of his skin as the door flew open, narrowly missing the back of his head.  Bokuto slapped his back twice.  “Good one, Kuroo.”  He opened his mouth, then seemingly forgot to close it again as he took in Kuroo’s appearance.  “You’re… wearing _real clothes_?”  He staggered back against the closed door, his eyes wide.  “And it’s not even” - a glance at his phone - “It’s not even ten o’clock?!”

“Tragic, isn’t it?”  Kuroo peeled Bokuto off of the door, gently herding him into the living room as he went on, “To think this day would ever come, where I would be dressed before ten on our day off…”

“I’m so sorry,” Bokuto sniffled, “Oikawa’s mom must be _very_ good in bed.”

“She is.”  Kuroo ducked the cutting board that came flying from the kitchen.  “So I should really be going~”  He heard something heavy slam against the door as he shut it behind himself, laughing under his breath.   _Today’s going to be a good day._

. . .

Unsurprisingly, Yaku was already at the cafe when Kuroo strolled up just a handful of minutes late.  He had found a comfortable table with two seats, away from the bustle of the people coming in and out.  Kuroo got himself a black coffee and joined his former teammate.

“Yo.”  He dropped casually into the chair across from Yaku.  He expected a scolding, or a glare, and was marvelously caught off-guard by the mildly surprised expression that flitted across Yaku’s features.

“Hey,” the libero's expression was schooled into a guarded curiosity.  “Don’t look so surprised,” he chided lightly, “It’s not like I expected you to be on time.  You haven’t changed at all.”

Despite himself, Kuroo smiled.  “You have,” he leaned his elbows on the table.

“I haven’t,” Yaku frowned.

“Have.”  Kuroo reached easily across the table between them and flicked the hair nearly brushing Yaku’s brows.  “Your hair is longer, for one.”  His fingertips tingled where they brushed his forehead, and Kuroo withdrew his hand.

Yaku jerked back a little and snapped his eyes to the window.  “It’s not that much longer,” he muttered.

Still grinning, Kuroo shrugged.  “If you say so,” he blew on his coffee.  “It looks good.”  Yaku, in general, looked good.  More so, Kuroo realized, when he was struggling to respond to a compliment.  The middle blocker muffled his chuckle in his coffee.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Yaku puffed his cheeks out in a frustrated sigh, obviously trying to change the subject.  “You never did tell me how it was having Oikawa as a setter.”

“And a roommate,” Kuroo added, setting his cup down again.  “It’s uh,” a number of words came to mind, most of them unladylike, “An adventure.”

Yaku lifted one brow and took a sip of his own coffee.  “Part of me wants you to elaborate and another part of me would rather not know.”

“Let’s go with the latter for now,” Kuroo snorted, “It would take days to explain the special hell Oikawa turns a volleyball court into.  He’s good though - I think it’s reasonable for us to reach nationals.”

Yaku looked as if he was going to say something, but quickly changed his mind and instead asked another question, “Will you continue playing?  Through university?”

“Eh,” Kuroo rubbed the back of his head.  “I’d like to, but…”  He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.  “Eventually my classwork is going to have to take precedence.  You said you already stopped, right?”  Yaku nodded, and Kuroo pushed, “But you didn’t say why - is it your major?”

“Kind of,” the libero’s eyes dodged Kuroo’s again as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head.  “I’m a just photography major, it’s not like I wouldn’t have the time to also play volleyball, but…”  Yaku blinked, his eyes shooting wide as he bit off his sentence rather abruptly.  Kuroo sat up a little straighter.

“But…?”

“Nothing.”  Yaku grabbed at his coffee again, but Kuroo caught his fingers before they could reach the cup.  He flashed his teeth in a taunting smirk.

“It’s no fun without me there, right?”

Yaku’s cheeks flushed suddenly, and he snatched his hand back as if Kuroo’s touch had burnt him.

 _Eh?_  Kuroo’s eyes widened.   _Could it be… that it’s true?!_  His heart couldn’t keep up with his mind, stumbling and stuttering and racing to catch up.  Yaku had whipped his head to the side, his hair not quite long enough to shield his face from Kuroo’s bewildered gaze.

“Yakkun…”

Like lightning, rich brown eyes snapped back to lock with his own before snapping away again.  “Don’t call me that.”

 _If looks could kill,_ Kuroo noted idly, _that one would have ended me._  He leaned forward regardless.  Things were falling together quickly in his mind, too quickly.  He had tried so hard to hate Yaku their first year of high school, and when their rocky friendship had grown into the sturdy team parenting that had carried Nekoma to Nationals Kuroo thought that would be the best it would get.

But it really was some wicked irony that now, months later, he realized that he probably never would have been happy leaving it at that.  That maybe he wanted more than that.

 _So what,_ Kuroo rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, drumming his fingers on his cheek as he watched Yaku fume, _should I do?_

. . .

“…but make it hot by striking.” -W.B. Yeats


	2. Sensations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! Your comments and kudos give me life.  
> I hope you enjoy chapter 2, as well!

"Should you ever be drowned or hung..."

_. . ._

_In… out…_ Yaku measured each breath against the one that preceded it.  His eyes were wide and focused, the perfect reflection of the falling leaves that fluttered around him.   _In…_  His phone went off suddenly, and with a loud alarm call and flurry of flapping wings the bird that had enraptured him vanished into the trees.  With a slur of expletives, Yaku scrambled into a sitting position.  He snatched his phone out of his pocket, not bothering to check the caller ID before answering with a snarl of, “What?”

_“Well hello to you, too.”_

“Oh,” Yaku exhaled slowly through clenched teeth.  “Kuroo.”  He stood stiffly, brushing leaves from his clothes.  “What do you want?  I’m busy.”

There was a scoff on the other line.   _“I’m hurt.”_

“I’m hanging up.”

_“Waitwaitwait,”_ the middle blocker sounded like he was trying not to laugh.   _“Humor me!”_

Yaku rolled his eyes, but try as he might to hold onto it, his bad mood was dissipating.  “You have one minute.”  He started back towards the entrance of the park.

_“When can we get coffee again?”_

The libero caught his bottom lip between his teeth.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting it, they had, after all, had fun catching up the first time.  But the smile Kuroo’s voice carried caught him off guard.  “I’m busy,” he repeated lamely.   _You idiot!!_ He kicked a stray rock as he passed it, lamenting in the form of a sharp exhale as it proved heavier than he initially thought.   _Well that’s going to bruise.  Brilliant._

_“Yakkun?”_

“Look,” he brought two fingers to his temple.  “I-”

_“Tomorrow then.  Sounds like a plan.”_

“Kuroo…!”

_“Oh, crap - sorry, Yakkun, I’m pretty busy right now, I’ve gotta go.”_

“Are you-”

_“See you at six!”_

For moment, Yaku could only stare dumbly at the ‘call ended’ screen.  His fingers twitched, clenching tightly around the device.  “Damn it!”  He wanted to punch something, he wanted to smile.  It was fortunate and unfortunate that he wanted to direct both of those feelings at the same stupid person.

_I should have hung up when I had the chance._

. . .

“I should have hung up when I had the chance,” Yaku groaned and let his head fall into his hands.  The words had become somewhat of a mantra to the former libero, and yet no matter how many times he repeated them, Kuroo _always_ ended their calls.  And for reasons beyond Yaku’s grasp he always wound up sitting at the cafe on Wednesday nights, glaring holes into his homework while he waited for Kuroo to show up.

“Here.”

Yaku jumped, his eyes flicking first to the coffee that had appeared on his table and then to the bedhead that had delivered it.  His eyes narrowed instantly into a frosty glare.  “Why do you keep telling me six when you _know_ you won’t be here until seven?”

Kuroo flashed his teeth in a taunting grin as he dropped into the seat across from Yaku’s.  “Why do you keep showing up at six when you _know_ I won’t be here until seven?”

Yaku’s fingers twitched.   _I should have hung up when I had the chance._  “I’m leaving.”

“Nooo,” Kuroo laughed, snatching one of the notebooks off of the table.  “I bought you coffee, the least you can do is ask me how practice went.”

“I’d rather not,” Yaku held his hand out, palm up.  “I need that back.”  The middle blocker raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.  Throwing his hands up in defeat, Yaku relented, “Fine, how was practice?”

“Pretty good,” instead of returning the notebook, the middle blocker started flipping through it.  “Oikawa’s relentless.  He’s not cutting our libero any slack at all.”

“Is he bad?”  Yaku sipped at his coffee, notebook temporarily forgotten.

“Oh yeah.  Terrible.”  His eyes lifted to meet Yaku’s, suddenly serious.  “I wish you had taken the scholarship, honestly.  We’re good, sure, but with a better libero…”

“Ha,” Yaku snatched the notebook back, shutting it firmly and thrusting it into his bag.  “Like I’d willingly put myself on a team with you and Bokuto.”

“What if Bokuto wasn’t there?”

“Still no.”

“Damn.”  Kuroo took a long draw of his drink.  “So what’s with that notebook anyway?”

The former libero stiffened, turning his eyes to the window.  “I thought you wanted to talk about practice.”

“I did.  We did.”  Kuroo leaned back in his chair, growing smug.  “Now I want to talk about you.”

“I’d rather not,” Yaku started gathering the rest of his papers.  “It’s just an assignment book.”

Kuroo snorted into his coffee, “What kind of assignment is ‘falling?’”

“Not falling, as in…”  Yaku stuck his tongue into his cheek, catching himself.   _It’s not like he’s interested, you moron!_  He wanted to kick something.

One dark eyebrow arched, and Kuroo sat a little straighter.  “What’s with the face, Yakkun?”

“It’s nothing,” he shoved his belongings into his bag a little more forcefully than necessary.  “Don’t worry about it.”  Yaku stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, narrowly missing Kuroo’s startled face as he moved to stop him.  “I have an exam tomorrow.”

_I should have hung up when I had the chance._

. . .

Yaku was not a fan of lying - not to others and not to himself.  It was pride in this honesty alone that made the libero acknowledge (grudgingly, if not despairingly) that he had developed feelings for Kuroo Tetsurou.

Upon this realization hitting him in the midst of their third year at Nekoma, Yaku’s first thought, naturally, was to pray for a swift and painless death.  His second, more _rational_ thought was to act as if he had never noticed, which seemed to work well enough… until now.

Suffice to say he may or may not have stopped looking both ways before crossing the street.

“Yaku?”

The strawberry brunet pushed his breath out in a sigh, a silvery cloud puffing into the cool air.  “Sorry, Suga, what were you saying?”

His roommate broke into a soft smile.  “That chemistry assignment,” he repeated, “Do you want to finish it tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is…”   _Wednesday_.  Yaku shook his head.  “Wednesdays are no good.”  He stepped into the crosswalk without even lifting his eyes from the pavement in front of him, leaving Suga to wave apologetically at the oncoming traffic and hurry after him.

“But it’s due Thursday,” he puffed as they stepped onto the sidewalk again.  “When else can we do it?”

“Tonight, obviously.”  Yaku pulled his phone out of his pocket.  Suga sighed.

“What about the project due tomorrow in our art history class?”

_Nothing…?  Normally he would have at least…_  He caught himself quickly, groaning inwardly and mentally kicking himself.  “We’ll just do both,” he thrust his phone back into his pocket, his mood darkening with every passing second.  “Don’t be a bitch, Suga, it’s not even that big of a project.”

Suga’s sweet smile was unfaltering, even as his gloved fingers gripped the back of Yaku’s neck, steering him into an abrupt u-turn.  “Alright.”  Yaku could all but smell the lingering threat in his roommate’s tone.  “Let’s go now, then.”

“But-”

Soft brown eyes snapped to the side, and for a moment Suga’s grin was frighteningly reminiscent of Kuroo’s.  “Hm…?  What’s that?”

“I thought we were…”  Yaku pressed his lips into a thin line when Suga’s expression didn’t change.

The former setter hummed, “Don’t be a bitch, Yaku.”

. . .

Of all the things that happened after entering university, Yaku thought perhaps getting Sugawara as his roommate was among the best.  They had become quick friends after their first practice match in high school, and when he’d come to his dorm to find the silver-haired setter unpacking he almost couldn’t contain his relief.  He had never expected to be in a similar degree field, as well, and as it turned out, even art as subjectively different as photography and acrylic painting shared similar course loads.

Then there were times, like the present, where Suga’s almost empathic senses were too keen.  In these moments, where the former setter just sat peaceably across from him, smiling in that reassuring way that Yaku would rather kick his teeth out and lock him out of their room than look at him.

“You’re making that face again,” Suga finally laughed.  He turned aside a little to pull his chemistry book out of his backpack.

“What face?”  Yaku chewed at his cheek, his brows furrowed.

“The one like you want to hit something - most likely me.”

“That’s because I do.”  Yaku pulled his own chemistry book out, dropping it on the table between them and flipping to the page he’d marked with a purple sticky note.  “There’s nothing I want to talk about, so stop smiling at me like that.  It’s creepy.”

“The way you run from your feelings baffles me.”  Suga picked at a dried fleck of paint under one of his nails.

“The way you organize your notes baffles me,” Yaku countered, eyeing his roommate’s mess of loose-leaf papers and highlighted text with mild disdain.

Suga took the bait for the time being, snorting as he dropped his collection of highlighters on the table.  “Like your sticky notes are any better!  How many trees do you think you’ve used just this semester?”  He motioned the one marking their current assignment, “And why purple?  The one on the next page is yellow, and I’ve seen a number of blue ones.”

“Easy.”  Yaku crossed his arms.  “Purple means ‘do it now.’  Blue is ‘do it later,’ and yellow marks passages that pertain to different assignments.”  He nodded to himself, obviously satisfied with his methods.

“Huh.”  Suga sipped at the iced coffee he’d ordered.  “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” the former libero pulled out his chemistry notebook and got to work, doing his best to ignore Suga while his roommate set to work with his neon highlighters.  A companionable silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional inquiry about the material and eventual answer.   _We may get this done sooner than I thought…_

“What do you mean you can’t give me a discount?!”

Yaku’s eyes shot wide as the cafe door swung open.  He didn’t dare look, ducking his head a little lower.

“Only employees get discounts, Bokuto-san.”

“But A _kaa_ shi…”

Yaku held his breath.  There was a chance…

“What about me?  Can I get a discount?”

_For fuck’s sake._  Yaku’s forehead hit the table.

Akaashi’s soft sigh mirrored his own exasperation.  “No, Kuroo-san.”

“Oh…?”  Suga twisted in his seat a little bit, his eyes bright.

“No!”  Yaku bristled, his hand shooting across the table to grab the front of Suga’s shirt, forcing him to keep his head low and pointed towards him.  “Don’t say a _word_ \- we’re not here.”

“I see,” Suga hummed.  Yaku’s phone buzzed on the table between them, and the strawberry brunet let out a strangled choking sound as he hurried to muffle it.  Kuroo had his own phone to his ear, and Yaku wasn’t surprised that it was his name that popped up on the caller ID.

“ _Oh_?”  Suga positively lit up.

“It - no - _Suga_ ,” Yaku hissed, sputtering.  With a sly wink, Suga snatched up the phone.

“Hello,” he chirped brightly, “Yaku’s phone, Sugawara speaking.”

Kuroo turned quickly, obviously bewildered.  His confusion melted quickly into surprise, then laughter as Suga turned around in his seat, waving at the tall middle blocker.

“Well, well,” he strolled over, leaving Bokuto to his antics.  “Sugawara, fancy meeting you here.”  His taunting gaze lingered on Yaku.  “And Yakkun.”

“We’re busy,” Yaku growled bitterly, “If you hadn’t noticed.”

To his dismay, Kuroo’s smirk grew.  “Ooh,” he drug a chair over, somehow unphased by the horrible scraping sound the motion made as he did so, and dropped into it.  “Chemistry, eh?  You’re in luck - I’m a biochem major.”

“B-biochem?” Yaku echoed.   _How did I not know that?_

“Sure,” Kuroo shrugged.  He picked up Yaku’s drink and took a long sip.  “That’s wrong, by the way.”

“Kuroo, let’s gooo,” Bokuto had abandoned Akaashi to stand by the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  “The match is going to start soon.”

“Match?”  Suga leaned over the table, looking at the problem Kuroo had pointed out in Yaku’s notes.

“Nekoma and Fukurodani are having a practice match,” he explained.  “We came to pick up Akaashi, and I was calling to see if you’d like to come, Yakkun.  You’re more than welcome to tag along,” he extended his invitation to Suga, but his eyes didn’t leave Yaku.

“I’d rather die,” Yaku deadpanned.  “Besides, this is due Thursday, we really need to get it done.”

“Why not do it tomorrow?”  Kuroo quirked a brow.  Yaku bit his lip, whipping his head to the side to glare out the window.  He was vaguely aware of Suga fiddling with his papers but the risk of confronting Kuroo was too high for him to turn and tell his roommate to stop.

“He says Wednesdays are no good,” Suga answered lightly.  “Anyway, he’s right.  And we haven’t even gotten started on our art history assignment.”

“I see,” Kuroo’s tone changed, as if he had suddenly realized why Yaku was so flustered.  “I guess I’ll leave you alone then.”

“There’s no guessing about it,” Yaku flashed his former teammate a glare.  “Go away.”  He longed to ask if they would still meet tomorrow, but bit his tongue.  Suga had already seen too much.

“Right, right,” he stood and stretched, lingering for a moment.  Yaku held his breath.   _Is he going to ask?  In front of Suga?  Do I_ want _him to?  What the fuck?_  “Bye then.”

_What…?_  Yaku blinked dumbly after him as he turned away.  Suga jumped up.

“Hey, it was good to see you again, Kuroo,” he patted the back of the middle blocker’s shoulder.  “I’ll have to get your number from Yaku - he’s horrible at chemistry and I really need to pass.”

They shared a laugh, and Suga sat back down grinning like the Cheshire cat.  Yaku felt his eyes grow a little wider, a hot flush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks as he watched Kuroo walk away, a purple sticky note pressed onto his back.

“That’s not funny,” Yaku seethed.

“What’s not?”  Suga’s features adopted a mock-innocence as he turned, barely glancing at Kuroo as he pushed Bokuto out the door.  “Oh, how did that get there?”  He turned back to his roommate with a sly grin.  “What was purple again?  Do him now?”

“I hate you.”

. . .

"...be sure and make a note of your sensations." -Edgar Allan Poe


	3. Leap

“And I realized that the act of falling in love was not so much a falling…”

. . .

It wasn’t something that happened gradually.  No, Kuroo thought, like most things that involved Yaku, it was rather abrupt.   _Short, even._  The middle blocker snickered at his own wordplay as he cleaned his lab station.

“What are you grinning about?”  Oikawa looked (appropriately) suspicious, but Kuroo waved it off and shook his head.

“You’re safe, don’t worry.”   _Yaku, on the other hand…_

Yaku was, apparently, avoiding him.  He had skipped their usual Wednesday meet-up after their chance encounter at the cafe and stopped responding to his phone.  No doubt he hadn’t told Sugawara where he’d been disappearing to every Wednesday night, and he was more than likely trying to cover it up now.

“Kuroo, are you even listening?!”

“No,” he blinked at Oikawa, letting a grin curve the corners of his mouth.

The setter threw his hands up in exasperation.  “This is _important_.”

“Alright, alright.”  Pleased with their lab station, Kuroo tucked his notes away and let Oikawa lead the way out of the classroom.  “Start from the beginning again.”

“Coach has been going to Shiratorizawa practice matches,” Oikawa’s cinnamon eyes were dark, maybe even brooding.  “I’m afraid he’s scouting their setter.”

“Eh?  Their setter?”  Kuroo thought back to his second year of high school, before Kurasuno had made it to Tokyo and Shiratorizawa had been the representative.  “That would be… Semi…?  Eita?”

“No, moron, he’s in our year, he’s gone.”

“Oh.”  Kuroo closed his eyes with a frown.  He _did_ remember a first year glaring daggers into the starting setter’s back for most of Shiratorizawa’s match against Fukurodani.  “I guess their other setter _would_ be a third year, now.”

“You know him?” Oikawa made a startled sound in the back of his throat.

“I know of him,” Kuroo corrected with a shrug.

The interest died out of Oikawa’s eyes.  “He was the starting setter last year.  Semi was pushed to a pinch server.”

“So he’s good.”

At that, his roommate offered an exaggerated scoff.  “By some standards, I suppose.  He’s good with Shiratorizawa but there’s no room for him and his ‘look at them not me’ style here.”

“Maybe not, but you know the coach has a keen eye.”  Kuroo shivered as they exited the science building, unprepared for the brisk late-autumn air.

Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck and bottom half of his face, Oikawa scowled.  “He should use that keen eye to find a better libero.”  Without waiting for an answer, Oikawa veered right.  “I’m going to the library.  See you.”

Kuroo didn’t dare mention the subtle limp in his roommate’s step as he watched him walk away.

. . .

“Oikawa’s in a foul mood.”

The only indication that Kenma heard what Kuroo was saying was the brief pause between one button click and the next.  He didn’t even lift his gaze as he offered ever-unhelpfully, “It’s getting cold…”

Kuroo dropped his forehead into his palm.  “Believe it or not I’m beginning to learn the difference between Oikawa’s bad moods.  This is _not_ a 'my knee hurts like a bitch' kind of mood.  It’s an entirely new animal.  A different breed of Oikawa fowl.”

Kenma, if possible, pulled an even _more_ disinterested face.  “Was that…”

“A bird pun?  Yes.  Not my best, but I didn’t think it was _that_ bad.”

“Your owl puns are admittedly better.”

Despite his inner turmoil over Oikawa’s mood swings, Kuroo cracked a grin.  “If only Bokuto could have heard you say that.  He’d be over the moon.”

Kenma snickered softly, though Kuroo was almost positive it was more related to something happening on his PSVita and not what he said.  Feeling that the conversation was over, Kuroo leaned across the couch to grab the TV remote and PlayStation controller.  He was utterly caught off guard when Kenma cut his eyes to the side and asked nonchalantly, “When did you and Yakkun stop talking?”

"We didn't," Kuroo answered automatically, a frown overtaking his features.   _Did we?_

. . .

For some reason, Kuroo wasn’t surprised at all to see Sugawara at the cafe the following Wednesday.  He was even less surprised to see him sitting in the seat Yaku usually occupied, grinning at Kuroo over his steepled fingers as if he was a winning lottery ticket, his pale lips forming a clear and concise, “ _Bingo.”_

With a brilliant smile and a friendly wave Sugawara said aloud, “Oh, hey!  Fancy meeting you here!”

Iwaizumi looked slightly less thrilled behind the counter.  “Don’t you know of _any_ other coffee shops?”

“Sure,” Kuroo dropped a few crumpled bills in the tip jar.  “But we both know that Oikawa would skin me alive if he found out I didn’t take every chance I got to bother the hell out of you.”

“Ha.”  Iwaizumi grabbed a cup and scribbled Kuroo’s usual order on the side for the barista before adding a complimenting scrawl of, “Kuroo Shitsurou” on the other side.  “I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

Leaving him to it, Kuroo made his way to his favorite table and Suga’s devilish smirk.

“Well, well,” he dropped casually into his chair.  “Something tells me you’re not here for help with your homework.”

“Not exactly,” Sugawara drawled.  There was something playful and dangerous dancing in his rich chocolate eyes.  “But I would,” he leaned forward, resting his chin on his laced fingers, “like to talk about _chemistry_.”

. . .

When Sugawara mentioned chemistry Kuroo had let himself believe that this was his chance to pry information about Yaku out of him.  He was sorely mistaken.  Somehow, Kuroo realized as Sugawara chimed a honey-sweet farewell and flounced away, he had given more than he got.  In fact, Kuroo wasn't sure if Sugawara had actually offered him _any_ information he didn’t already know.

_That wiley…_  Sighing heavily, Kuroo downed the last of his drink and turned his gaze to the window.   _And I still wound up helping him with his chemistry homework._

It wasn’t until much later that night while Kuroo was working on his own lab homework when he realized what exactly it was he had gained from his encounter with Sugawara that day.

**From: Yakkun  
** **Suga didn’t say anything weird today, did he?!**

For a moment, he was so surprised by the sudden message that Kuroo forgot to respond.  A slow, sly smile began to shape his mouth as his phone vibrated again.  And again.

**From: Yakkun  
** **Kuroo?**

**From: Yakkun  
** **Damnit Kuroo**

**From: Yakkun  
** **What did you say Suga?!**

**From: Yakkun  
** **Wrong person.  Just.**

**From: Yakkun  
** **Fuck.**

Smothering his laughter in one hand, Kuroo pecked a merciful message back with one thumb.

**To: Yakkun  
** **I’ll see you at the cafe tomorrow.  6 o’clock.**

. . .

Yaku was - as usual - already there when Kuroo strolled in a generous thirty minutes late.  Only this time he didn’t have his books splayed across the table, coffee mostly forgotten as he poured over his assignments.  Instead, he clutched the mug between his hands like a lifeline, his hazelnut eyes hard and searching as they bore into the cream-tinted liquid.

That guarded gaze snapped up as soon as Kuroo pulled his seat out, unwavering as he sat.  “Well?”

Kuroo almost laughed.  “Well hello,” he teased.  “Long time no see.”

Almost guiltily, Yaku shifted his eyes aside, freeing Kuroo from his demanding glare.  “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text?”  Kuroo cocked a brow, sipping on his drink while Yaku’s face fell into a familiar scowl.  “But not too busy to meet me here on a Thursday after barraging me with texts last night.  You have to admit, that’s a little suspicious, Yakkun.”

Yaku pressed his lips together, the muscles along his jaw tightening in a tell-tale sign of him clenching and unclenching his teeth.  “Look, it’s just ridiculous to think that I can be in the same place on the same day at the same time every single week!”  Kuroo’s raised eyebrow crept a centimeter closer to his hairline, but before he could interject Yaku was pushing on.  “And it doesn’t matter what Suga said - I’m sure it was ridiculous anyway.”  He stood abruptly.

“Yakkun,” Kuroo started to stand, too, but Yaku snapped a finger out, pointing dead into his soul and promising pain if he tried to follow.  “I-”

“No.”  Yaku left no room for debate.  “I won’t be here next Wednesday.”  

“Then wh-”

“I’ll be seeing a movie.”  He stopped pointing to dip his fingers into his jacket pocket and slam whatever he pulled out onto the table with a flat palm.  With that, Yaku turned briskly on his heel and marched out of the cafe, leaving Kuroo to inspect the tiny slip of paper he had left behind.  

Smiling like a fool, Kuroo stood and pocketed the movie ticket, repeating the date and showing time silently in his head until he was certain he couldn’t forget it.

Maybe it wasn’t gradual, the way he was falling for Yaku.  It was unexpected and a little bewildering, rough around the edges and almost startlingly sincere - but there was something breathtaking about the precipitous drop before him that made Kuroo long for it even more.

**To: Yakkun  
Friday @ 730.  It's a date ;)**

. . .

“...as a desperate, terrifying leap off the highest building around, the kind of jump that ends in not a single casualty, but two.” -Meggie Royer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so. so. sorry that this took so long. But it's here now, and there is much more to come. Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! You guys really make my days brighter.


	4. Tall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback and kudos!! I know the last chapter was a little short and maybe a tad rushed but I think this one will make up for it. My inspiration for this series is at an all-time high, so look forward to relatively frequent updates! Enjoy!

“If you are not in over your head…”

. . .

Yaku tilted his head to the right, then to the left, before shaking his head and sighing heavily.  “I don’t get it.”

Suga leaned away from his canvas with a click of his tongue.  “That’s because it’s not done yet, obviously.”

“ _ Obviously _ ,”  Yaku rolled his eyes and turned away again, padding to the small kitchen area to pull his food from the microwave.  He hadn’t quite forgiven Suga for meddling, but after two days of mute fury he had begun to realize that maybe it wasn’t quite as bad as he initially thought.  After all, Suga had promised - multiple times - that he hadn’t actually disclosed any information that Kuroo didn’t already most likely know, and he now had a (tentative) date.

_ Date. _  Yaku groaned inwardly, ducking his head to hide the blush he could feel creeping across his cheeks at just the thought.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone on a date.  To his knowledge the last thing that had even come close was a “double date” that Suga had forced him to go on, and he had spent most of that disastrous evening keeping Suga from diving face-first into a dangerous rebound from a breakup the week prior.

Next Friday, he wouldn’t have Suga to babysit.

“Are you just going to stare at the microwave or…?”

Yaku jumped and slammed the microwave door shut, only to curse under his breath and open it again to retrieve the food from inside.  Suga did a poor job of hiding his laughter, if he even tried at all.

“You’re really worried about next Friday, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”  Yaku sat at the coffee table.  “I was actually thinking about the  _ last _ date I went on.”  He sent a pointed glare Suga’s way, and the artist broke into a sheepish sweat.

“O-oh.”  He turned back to his painting somewhat self-consciously.  “I apologized for that.”

Yaku sighed, feeling a little bad for bringing it up again.  “And I forgave you.  I was just trying to remember the last time I had been on a date.”

“That hardly counts.”  Suga started picking up tubes of acrylic paint, frowning thoughtfully as he examined each color.  “You didn’t even talk to the poor guy.”

Mouth full, Yaku could only hum in response.  When he finally swallowed he defended himself meekly, “He wanted to be there about as much as I did.”  Silence fell between them for a long number of moments while Yaku ate and Suga surveyed his expansive collection of paints, unbroken until the former had finished and the latter had found  _ just _ the right color.

“Aha!”  Suga stuck his tongue out as he squeezed a little onto his palette, testing it with the other colors he’d been using.  “Anyway,” he continued brightly, “what are you going to wear?”

Yaku grimaced.  “Suga, please.  I’ll just wear what I usually wear.  It’s not going to be any different than going to the coffee shop.”

Suga gasped so hard he choked, nearly dropping his palette in the process.  “ _ No _ ,” he pointed his paint-dipped brush at Yaku.  “Absolutely not.”

“But it’s just Kuroo,” Yaku muttered.  “It’s not like…’

“Like you have to impress him?”  Suga guessed.  He waved his brush haphazardly as he spoke, “Maybe not.  Maybe you don’t  _ have _ to.  But if you dress the same, act the same, how is anything ever going to change?”

“It doesn’t  _ have _ to change…”  Yaku nibbled at the inside of his lower lip.  That was true.  What he had with Kuroo right now was  _ good _ .  Sure, it could be better, but it could also be worse.

“If that were the case you wouldn’t have taken the tickets.”  Suga’s tone took a serious note.  “Yaku, you’re so honest with everyone else about everything else - isn’t it about time that your started being honest with yourself?”  He didn’t wait for an answer, instead swiveling on his stool to face his painting again.  “I’ll pick your outfit, the rest is up to you.”

Recognizing the change in Suga’s focus, Yaku got the “this conversation is over” message loud and clear.  Puffing his cheeks out in a sigh, he stood.  “I’m going out.”  He grabbed his jacket and his camera on his way to the door.  His brain was spinning out of control, and he knew that the only way to slow his thoughts was with the lens of his camera and the soothing click of the shutter as he captured little pieces of the world and stole them close to his heart.

. . .

By Wednesday, Yaku was contemplating cancelling, if only so that he wouldn’t drown underneath all of the midterm homework he had piling up around him.  He and Suga existed in a feint of wakefulness fueled by coffee and acrylic paint fumes.  He had only barely scraped the surface of the portfolio he was supposed to turn in for his autumn semester review, and truth be told he may have been panicking a  _ little _ bit.

Then his phone went off as his (once upon a time) favorite class ended.  Yaku pulled the little device from his pocket, only to startle into almost dropping it as his professor barked out his name.

“Come to my office for a moment.”

Yaku swallowed the apprehension that surged up like bile in his throat, immediately thrusting his phone back into his pocket and filing out of the lecture hall behind his professor.  Suga was waiting just outside, his eyebrows lifting curiously when he saw the grim expression Yaku wore.  Yaku didn’t say a word as they passed, knowing Suga would wait up for him like he always did.

As soon as the office door shut, Yaku blurted quickly, “If this is about my portfolio-”

To his dismay and mild surprise, the teacher began to laugh.  “Oh no,” he chuckled heartily.  “It’s nothing like that.  You still have plenty of time to put that together, and you’re one of our most promising photography students.  No,” he repeated, “I have faith in you building an excellent portfolio.”

_ I feel like that should have made me feel better. _  Yaku forced a pathetic excuse of a smile.  “That’s a relief.”   _ Somehow I’m even more stressed over it. _

“Actually,” the professor started digging through the shelves against the wall behind his desk.  “I have some very good news for you.”

“Good news?”  Yaku echoed, disbelief coloring his voice.   _ Have I been excused from midterms? _  He almost snorted aloud.   _ As if. _

With a pleased sound, a large manilla folder was dropped on the desk between them.  “I recommended you a few weeks ago for an extremely selective winter break trip.”  Opening the folder, the teacher pulled a formal looking letter from the top.  “This morning we learned the results, and you were voted among the top students to go, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Stunned into silence, Yaku took the paper that was offered to him.  “I-Iceland?”  He stammered.   _ Iceland?! _

“It’s a beautiful country,” the teacher nodded, smiling fondly.  “I’ve been myself.  I think you would find a lot to like about it, as much as you love nature photography.”  He continued, “It’s an all expenses paid trip, funded by the dean of the school to promote the appreciation of art from all over the world.  I don’t need an answer immediately, but the sooner we know how many will be attending the sooner we can make the travel arrangements.”

“Y-yes, of course.  I…  I’ll think about it this week and try to have a decision by Monday.”

“Very well, I look forward to hearing a positive response.”  He pushed the folder across the desk to Yaku.  “This is all of the information on the trip.  That’s all.”

Dipping into a deep bow, Yaku took the folder and fled the room as quickly as he could.  He almost ran straight into Suga as he turned into the hall.

“Whoa there,” steady hands landed on his shoulders.  “What was that all about?”  Sympathy sparked in Suga’s eyes.  “Your portfolio?”

Yaku shook his head dumbly.  “Iceland.”

“Ice...land?  The country?”

“The country.” Yaku handed the letter of invitation to his roommate and started towards the stairs.  Suga followed closely, his scarf flapping behind him as he tried to keep up.

“Yaku, this is amazing!”

“I know,” Yaku stopped when they made it outside, taking deep breaths of the bitter cold air to calm his racing heart.  “I just… I’m not sure if it’s something I should do.”

“Isn’t this  _ exactly  _ what you’ve been wanting?” Suga put the letter carefully back in the folder, his brows creased seriously.  “You told me the first night we were here that you wanted to travel and take pictures of as many things as you could.”

Yaku shuffled his feet, tapping the toe of his boot on the sidewalk.  “I do,” he insisted.  “But the timing is just…”

Suga sighed, his breath passing his chapped lips in a billowy silver cloud.  “Why don’t you ask Kuroo what he thinks when you see him on Friday?”

“Maybe I will.”  Yaku shrugged uncomfortably and pushed the folder into the depths of his black hole of a bag.

“You won’t.”  Suga teased, dared.

He didn’t.

. . .

As promised, Suga had an outfit ready and waiting for Yaku when he emerged from the bathroom freshly showered, towel wrapped around his hips and toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.  He choked on his toothpaste when he saw the clothes lying on his bed, backpedaling into the bathroom and spitting weakly into the sink before trying again.

“Okay,  _ no _ .”

Suga looked downright  _ offended _ .  “No?”  He scoffed, “And why the hell not?”

“Suga it’s cold outside, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  Yaku pointed to the window, which was fogged over on the inside and frosted around the edges on the outside.  It had started snowing Thursday, and the pair had spent the whole day after their classes slaving away on their midterm assignments.  “And isn’t that your shirt?”

“That’s what the jacket is for!”  Still, Suga rolled his eyes and retreated to his wardrobe again.  “And,” he tossed over his shoulder with a haughty sniff, “You’ve been wearing the same clothes for the past ten years.  I understand that you can’t help that you stopped growing when you were in middle school but-”

Yaku cut him off with a solid chop to the soft spot between his ribs and hip.  “Shut the fuck up about my height or I’m picking my own clothes.”

“Okay, okay,” Suga wheezed between broken laughter.  “Dry your hair properly, I’ll do better this time.”

“You’d better.”

It took four tries for them to reach a compromise on the definition of casual, then another two for Suga to make up his mind.

“Perfect,” Suga appraised Yaku like he might a finished painting.  “And look, it’s time for you to leave.  I couldn’t have timed it better if I planned it.”  Without much warning, Suga wrapped Yaku in a hug.  “Just relax, okay?  Have fun.”

With a snort, Yaku leaned into the embrace a little before pulling back.  “Thanks, mom.”  Keys, wallet, and phone secured, he left with a half-smile tugging at his lips and a decided spring in his step.   _ Tonight is going to be fun. _

Yaku (as usual) made it to the place they’d agreed to meet first.  It was a convenience store one block from the theatre, with forty-five minutes left until the movie started.  He figured that Kuroo would (as usual) be dragging behind.  Yaku was more than a little surprised when he came strolling up hardly four minutes later.

“Hey,” Kuroo flashed a smile that made Yaku’s heart stutter in his chest.  “You look nice, Yaku, I’m impressed.”  He rubbed the material on Yaku’s arms appreciatively before casting him a playful glance, “It’s not yours, is it?”

Yaku puffed out a laugh, “No,” he admitted.  “It’s Suga’s.  He wouldn’t help me study yesterday unless I let him choose what I wore tonight.”

“I always knew Suga was a schemer.”  With one more once-over Kuroo turned towards the convenience store.  “Come on, we’re going to get snacks.”

“Snacks?”  Yaku raised an eyebrow.  “And how do you plan on getting them in…?  I don’t even have pockets.”

“Well you’re no help at all, are you?”  Kuroo rolled his eyes.  “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way.”

Ten minutes later they left with way more than they could possibly sneak into a movie theatre without being kicked out for trying.

“Here’s the plan,” Kuroo murmured as they started towards the movies.  “You’ll put these-”

“I’m not putting anything in my shirt.”

“Damn,” Kuroo snapped his fingers in mock defeat.  “Then I’m out.”

Yaku blinked incredulously at his former captain.  “Wait - that was your  _ only _ idea?”

“It’s what me and Bo did last time,” Kuroo snickered at the memory.  “Oikawa couldn’t fit it all in his alien backpack so we zipped the rest into our volleyball jackets.”

“Alien back… never mind.”  Yaku shook his head.  “Never mind.”  They were approaching the theatre.  “I’m going to kick your ass for this later.”

After ten minutes of snickering and stuffing and far too many “accidental” brushes of Kuroo’s long fingers against his pale skin for all of them to  _ really _ be an accident, they set towards the front doors.  Yaku swallowed back his disbelieving snort when they handed over their tickets and made it to their movie room without so much as a suspicious glance.

“I cannot believe that actually worked.”  Yaku blew out a sigh as Kuroo helped him unload their stash so he could sit comfortably.

“You’ve really got to start having a little more faith in me,” Kuroo handed Yaku his drink.  The lights dimmed shortly after, and the screen prompted them to silence or turn off their cell phones.  Yaku rolled his eyes when he saw a text from Suga telling him to have fun and relax before silencing and locking his phone and sliding it into his back pocket again.  It was an action movie, Marvel’s Civil War.  Suga knew that Yaku preferred action to pretty much every other genre, it was sweet of him to think of that when buying the tickets.

Suga didn’t, however, account for how little Kuroo knew about the Marvel universe.

They were only thirty minutes into the movie when the tall middle blocker leaned to the side, his shoulder bumping against Yaku’s as he ducked his head close.  “Who is that?”

“What?”  Yaku cast a sharp glance at Kuroo.  “Who?”

“That guy,” Kuroo nodded towards the actor on the screen.  “Kenma has a game with the other one in it.  Captain America.”

“That’s Bucky, he-” Yaku frowned.  “Wait.”  Someone behind them grumbled and Yaku lowered his voice and leaned a little closer, trying to ignore the way Kuroo’s warm breath stirred the hair around his ear and scrambled his thoughts like eggs.  “Have you never seen any of these movies…?”

“I’ve seen bits and pieces of Iron Man,” Kuroo murmured, contemplative.  “But that’s about it.”

Yaku dropped his forehead into his hands.  “Oh, Kuroo…”

“Is that bad?”

“Just… Hush.  We’ll talk about it later.”

Laughing almost inaudibly, Kuroo straightened in his seat again, leaving Yaku’s side feeling suddenly cold.  His fingers twitched with the urge to bring him close again, but Yaku curled them against the armrest that separated them instead.

. . .

Yaku followed Kuroo out of the theatre when the movie had finished, twisting his torso from left to right to stretch his back and shoulder blades.  Kuroo slowed so they could walk side by side again, grinning.

“So tell me again why it’s so terrible what this Bucky guy did?  I mean it’s not like he knew.”

Yaku stuck his tongue out in distaste.  “Okay, first of all, no.”

“But-”

“No.”  Yaku flashed a glare, “You’re not allowed to pick a side until you’re properly educated.”

“Properly educated?”  Kuroo echoed, one eyebrow quirking.  “And who exactly is going to educate me?”

“How should I know?”

At that, Kuroo pulled a pout.  “Won’t you teach me, Yakkun?  Suga said your winter break was coming up, and our training camp is only the first few days.”

_ Did he now? _  Yaku pressed his lips into a thin line.  If ever there was a chance to bring up his opportunity to go to Iceland, that was it.  Instead he waved his hand dismissively, “We’ll see.”

They walked in an amiable silence for a while, the flurries of snow gradually morphing into a steady fall that promised to cover everything it touched.  They didn’t particularly talk about what they would do after the movie, if anything, but Yaku wasn’t sure he was ready for the night to end.  Instead of asking, he let Kuroo lead the way, trusting that Kuroo had something up his sleeve.  He never expected to end up at the open gates of one of his favorite parks.

“Hey, Yakkun,” Kuroo got a sly look about him as they crossed the entrance and started down the winding sidewalk.  “Do you think that lake is frozen?”

“I doubt it,” Yaku rolled his eyes.  “And even if it is, what are you going to do?  Skate?”

Too many teeth flashed in playful smirk, “Why not?”

“Moron,” Yaku berated mildly, “Even if it is frozen it would be only just - you’d fall in.”

“Is that a mild hint of concern I hear?”

“Definitely not.”  Yaku’s answer was so immediate it drew a bark of laughter out of Kuroo.

“Some things never change, Yakkun.”

There was something about the way Kuroo looked at him, about the way his gaze lingered, that made Yaku feel as if he was being read like a book.  Flustered and - frankly - at a loss, Yaku stooped suddenly, raking two large handfuls of powdery snow together between his palms and packing it quickly before straightening and lobbing the snowball point-blank into Kuroo’s face.

“That’s for making me put six pounds of snacks in my shirt.”

“Oho?”  Kuroo’s lips curved into a wicked grin.

Too little, too late, Yaku realized that perhaps he had just made some sort of terrible mistake.  Before he could right this wrongdoing, Kuroo had scooped up an armful and tossed the whole heap over Yaku’s head.  Yelping in protest, Yaku reeled back.  “Kuroo, wait, I-”

“Do you surrender?”

_ Surrender? _  Yaku jerked his chin up.  Kuroo held a snowball in one hand, the other perched lazily on his hip.  “I never said that.”

“You’re about to wish that you did, Yakkun.”

Yaku wasn’t sure if it was his new team or his insatiable desire to met every challenge full-force, but Kuroo seemed more agile than ever.  They threw snowballs with everything they had, using trees and benches and even people as cover as they turned the peaceful park into a battlefield.  There was no sign of the end, only a breathless tumble down a hill and Yaku finding himself tugging his phone out of his pocket, snapping a quick picture of the nearby lamp and the warm golden glow it cast over the lonely bench beside it.  Then of Kuroo as he (much more gracefully) slid down the shallow slope, a captivating smile on his face and his cheeks and nose red from the cold.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Yaku could only laugh, still lying flat on his back.  “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.”  Kuroo leaned over him on his hands and knees.  “Take as many as you’d like.”  Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, erratic white clouds that couldn’t be more out of sync.  It was imperfect and perfect, Kuroo’s hair haloed by the lamplight, dusted in snow and messier than ever as the flakes froze in clumps; it was all Yaku could do to lift his phone and snap another picture of him.

“What is it that you see, Yaku…?”  Kuroo lowered his voice, his head tilting curiously and his bewitching hazel eyes drawing Yaku’s own gaze in like the tide dragging shells from the shore.  “When you take pictures, you…”

Rather abruptly, Yaku sneezed, dropping his phone as he tucked his face into the bend of his elbow.  Almost as if it had broken some sort of spell, the former libero was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the cold wet seeping into his back and dampening his hair.

“Shit,” Kuroo clambered to his feet and pulled Yaku upright.  “We should get back before you catch a cold.”  Yaku opened his mouth, but his protest was cut off by Kuroo shrugging off his own jacket and throwing it around his shoulders.  “Lead the way, Yakkun, I’ll see you home.”

“R-right.”

. . .

It wasn’t a long walk to his university’s campus, but it was long enough for Yaku to contemplate the circumstances and deduce that had he not sneezed there was a very,  _ very _ real possibility that he could have kissed Kuroo.  The thought was as mortifying as it was exhilarating, that he might be able to nudge their relationship a step further tempered by the debilitating fear that maybe he was just reading far too much into what Kuroo actually meant as casual, friendly gestures.  Swaddled in inner turmoil, Yaku almost didn’t notice that Kuroo had frozen at the front gates.

“This is far enough if you want to go home,” Yaku hovered uncertainly a few feet ahead.  He wasn’t expecting Kuroo to shake his head firmly and close the distance again.

“Sorry,” he exhaled, “You just failed to mention that you were attending one of the most elite art schools in the country.”

_ Oh _ .  For some reason Yaku felt for sure that would be something Suga would blab about.  “It never came up.”  He tapped the toe of his boot once or twice before sighing and turning back towards the path that would lead them to his dorm.  “It’s this way.”

Yaku slowed when his dorm came into sight, dragging his feet to the front door before turning back to face Kuroo.  “This is it.”

“It’s nice,” Kuroo hummed.  “The entire school is nice.”

“Yeah,” Yaku agreed lamely, ducking his head a little and examining the frost that lined the front steps.  His breath caught in his throat when Kuroo’s fingers caught under his chin, forcing it up so their eyes could meet again.  There was something impish in Kuroo’s expression, smoldering as it was the quirk of his lips spelled  _ trouble _ .

“This was fun, Yakkun.”  Kuroo leaned a little closer, until their foreheads were almost touching.  His tongue swept across his chapped lips, and Yaku forgot how to breathe.   _ Is he…?! _  But Kuroo only leaned the tiniest bit closer before cocking one eyebrow and inquiring airily, “Are you holding you breath?”

Once mentioned, Yaku realized he was, in fact, holding his breath, and he inhaled a little too quickly to make up for it.  “No, I-”

“It’s almost like you’re waiting on something…  _ expecting _ something, even…”

“M-maybe I am.”  Yaku could practically hear the blood rushing to his ears and cheeks, dragging a furious flush all the way across his face and down the back of his neck.  Kuroo took a step forward, and Yaku jolted back a step only to fetch up against the glass door of his dorm.  He couldn’t stifle the shiver that skittered down his spine, and Kuroo was anything but blind to the tremor.  The hand that had been curled under Yaku’s chin slipped up his jawline until Kuroo’s fingertips were rubbing the back of his neck, massaging his hairline.

“Is that so…?”

Two things flashed into Yaku’s mind as Kuroo pulled him closer.  The first, more articulate thought, was  _ fuck _ .  The second, less concrete, was something kin to panic.  It flashed through his veins like magma and clenched his heart in a vice, and before Yaku could clutch at any kind of rational thought his leg was already moving.  His hand caught the doorknob as his shin slammed into Kuroo’s side, knocking the middle blocker off balance and taking the distance that opened between them to fumble his keys out of his pocket and slide the key pass over the door lock.  The door swung open behind him and slammed shut in his wake, leaving Kuroo standing dumbfounded and staring at a sign that quite clearly read, “No Visitors After 10 pm.”

Yaku didn’t stop until he was in the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall and pressing his burning face into his hands.   _ What have I done…?! _

He staggered into his and Suga’s room with one hand still pressed across his face.  Kuroo had almost kissed him.  He had almost kissed Kuroo Tetsurou.  The man he had been slowly falling in love with since their third year in high school.

_ So why the hell did you stop him?! _

“Yaku?”  Suga sat up as Yaku stumbled across the room, his dark chocolate eyes growing wide as he watched the former libero fall into bed and press his face into the pillows.  “How was your date?”

A soft groan was all Yaku could manage for the time being, his stomach still churning with sparrow-sized butterflies and an astute feeling of regret prickling through his bones.  Finally, when Suga was certain to think he would never get an answer, Yaku raked his fingers through his hair and folded his arms over the back of his head.

“I have to go to Iceland.”

. . .

“...how do you know how tall you are?” - T.S. Eliot


	5. Patient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo all! I'm so sorry for the wait, and I really (really) hope that this chapter lives up to the standards of the others! I can't wait to hear what you all think about it :3

“So you asked me for one thing / to be patient…”

. . .

Kuroo groaned as the screen went dark, displaying an all-too-familiar _You Died_.  He dropped the controller and rolled onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.  “I fucked up.”

“What else is new?”

Kuroo chucked the nearest pillow at Oikawa, clicking his tongue when his roommate caught it on his fingertips like a volleyball and tossed it over the back of the oversized round chair he’d settled into.  “Aren’t you supposed to be studying, Trashykawa?”

“I’m taking a break,” as if to emphasize his point, Oikawa pushed his legs out from under the books and papers he was buried beneath in a stiff stretch.  “And besides, watching you suck is a lot more fun.”

“Ha,” Kuroo pushed himself into a proper sitting position.  “I’d like to see you do any better.”

“Fine!”  With an fluttering of scattering papers the setter jumped from his chair.  “Let me see that.”

Kuroo cocked an eyebrow, flashing his teeth in the first legitimate smile he’d managed in nearly a week.  “Be my guest; I’ll let you start your own character.” He scooted down the couch so Oikawa could sit next to him and gave the setter his controller.  While Oikawa got started on his character, Kuroo pulled out his phone.

 **To: Brokuto  
** **Bro**

 **To: Brokuto  
** **‘Kawa’s starting DS3**

Oikawa stuck his tongue out as he navigated the character creation screen, his brows furrowed in concentration.  “Aren’t there any _attractive_ options?”

“You’ll be wearing a helmet most of the time anyway,” Kuroo snickered at Bokuto’s completely capitalized response and dropped his phone back on the coffee table.  “It’s not like it…”

“There!”  Oikawa preened, the character he’d made looking as if it had come from a completely different developer.

“How the…”

The door slammed open before Kuroo could even begin to wonder how Oikawa had managed to make an _attractive_ Dark Souls character.

“DON’T START YET!”  Bokuto barely remembered to kick the door shut behind himself, tripping over his shoes as he kicked them off and tumbling onto the couch.  “Okay, I’m here, what did I-” He blinked at the screen for a moment before letting out a low whistle. “Daaamn, Oikawa. We’ll have to add ‘making unfortunately pretty game characters’ to your list of useless skills.”

“Useless?!”  Oikawa balked incredulously.  “None of my skills are useless!”

Kuroo exchanged a dubious glance with Bokuto before giving Oikawa the same skeptical stare.  “Always being able to accurately guess the temperature…?”

“I always know whether it’s appropriate to wear shorts or pants!”

Bokuto leaned on Kuroo, arm around his shoulders as he added, “Being able to run down stairs without slipping or missing a step?”

“There is nothing useless about being the epitome of grace - especially when you’re in a hurry!”

Kuroo reached for the controller and finished the character while Bokuto and Oikawa bickered about the time he’d mentioned that particular skill to the team - then been taunted into running from the very top of the math and science building to the very bottom four times to prove it.  He took the controller absent-mindedly when Kuroo handed it back to him, still prattling on about his skills. Bokuto and Kuroo had only “hmmed” and “uh-huhed” as necessary, both turning their complete focus to the screen. Their vague response grew more and more faint as their airheaded teammate slashed his way through the starting area without getting touched, complaining about how poorly they treated their “dearest setter and teammate” as he approached the boss.

Kuroo and Bokuto went completely silent when the fight with Iudex Gundyr started, holding their breath and each other as Oikawa haphazardly swung and dodged at all the wrong times but still felled the boss _without getting hit._

“And-”  Oikawa blinked, turning to frown at his middle blocker and ace.  “Are you two even listening to me?”

“I think we’ve finally found Oikawa’s only useful talent,” Kuroo’s voice was little more than an awestruck whisper.

“It is truly a gift from the Gods,” Bokuto sniffled reverently, wiping large tears from his cheeks.

“I’m calling Kenma.”

Bokuto was already on the phone.  “Ak _AA_ sh!  You won’t BELIEVE this!”

. . .

They spent the better part of that weekend in the living room watching Oikawa destroy Dark Souls 3.  Hanamaki and Matsukawa from Oikawa’s old high school team joined them as well, bringing with them two massive stacks of pizza.  Kenma had turned off Kuroo’s phone as soon as he’d arrived, and after a week of staring at it, agonizing over what he may have done wrong, Kuroo had to admit that it was _nice_ to not think about it.  But when everyone left Sunday night, numbers exchanged between Bo and Mattsun and Makki with the promise of getting together again and buying Oikawa the DLC, Kuroo had to turn it back on and face reality again.

He had almost kissed Yaku.  Twice.

He got caught up in the moment, looked into Yaku’s eyes and saw - even if only briefly - the same exact fear that he felt clenching his own heart like a vice.

Fear of change, of changing what they were.  And in true Yaku fashion, the former libero had faced that fear the only way he knew how: kicking Kuroo and turning all of his focus to something (read: _anything_ ) else.

 _Not like that’s anything new._  Kuroo had experienced Yaku’s insecurities more than once, but in high school confrontations like these (in which someone would approach Yaku romantically) had always led to Yaku turning all of his attention to volleyball.  He’d practice nonstop for a week or two then return to the problem with a level head and slightly less vulgar language. But lying in bed, not even trying to sleep knowing that he’d need to be up and ready in just a few short hours to head for the winter training camp, Kuroo couldn’t help but to realize that this was completely different.  This wasn’t some random guy trying to get Yaku’s pants, or Lev getting the wrong idea - this was he himself, _Kuroo_ , trying to step over the clearly observed line between “friends” and “something more than friends.”

Sighing heavily, Kuroo rolled onto his stomach, pressing his pillows on either side of his head and pressing his forehead into the sheets.   _So the question becomes is the distance because he’s rejecting me, or because he’s scared of what might happen if he accepts the change…_

With no sign of the libero ever answering his phone again, Kuroo figured there was only one way to find out.

 _Unfortunately,_ he grimaced as his phone screen lit up with his alarm at exactly three in the morning, _first I have to survive this training camp._

. . .

“Rough training camp I take it?”

Kuroo flicked Iawaizumi off as best he could with his middle and ring finger taped together.  “You should see the other guy.”

Iwaizumi snorted and scribbled something on a cup, then passed it to the barista.  “So what’s the occasion? Or are you just doing Crappykawa another favor and giving me a hard time?”

Kuroo paid for his drink and put the change in the tip jar.  “Actually, I…” The door chimed as another customer came in, a bright laugh evaporating the words from Kuroo’s tongue.

“Well, well!  I thought you might be coming around eventually.”  Sugawara ducked around Kuroo to lean on the counter, rich brown eyes skimming the menu before he flashed Iwaizumi a smile.  “Can I get a white chocolate mocha, please? The biggest you have, iced, two shots of espresso.”

“Coming right up.”

Kuroo shifted his weight, one hand propped on his hip as he watched Suga straighten again and turn to face him.  The bright red scarf wrapped around his neck looked awfully familiar, but before he could ask Suga had looped his arm through Kuroo’s and was guiding him to the large window seat towards the back of the cafe.

“Yes,” he hummed, falling into his chair as delicately as the snow falling outside.  Kuroo opened his mouth but Sugawara swept on, resting one elbow on the table and his chin in his open palm as he sighed, “He wanted to change things up a little for his trip to Iceland, so I let him borrow some things of mine on account that he left me some of his.”

Kuroo realized suddenly that his mouth was hanging wide open, snapping it shut before stuttering, “I-Iceland?”

Suga made a show out of widening his eyes, covering his mouth with one hand.  “ _Oops_ ,” his voice betrayed the smile he was trying to hide.  “I’ve said too much.”

Kuroo didn’t even notice Iwaizumi bringing their drinks to the table, narrowing his eyes at Suga.  “Is that why he hasn’t answered any of my texts? Or calls?”

“Not quite.”  After taking an agonizingly long sip from the frosted white drink in front of him, Suga dipped a hand into his jacket and deposited Yaku’s phone on the table between them.  “He’s ignoring everyone, technically. Said he didn’t want to be distracted while he was on the trip. Gave me permission to handle things while he was gone.”

Kuroo could _feel_ the color draining from his face.  It wasn’t as if he’d sent anything _particularly_ personal, but there was an admittedly large number of messages he regretting sending from the moment he’d pressed the button.

“Don’t worry,” Suga winked, “I went ahead and deleted all of the embarrassing ones - and the apologies for sending them.”

 _Charming._  Kuroo felt his eyebrow twitching.   _Like a snake wearing a bunny costume._  “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me you had his phone?”

Unsurprisingly, Suga laughed.  “Well that’s just not any fun at all.”  He nibbled on his straw, almost as if he was thinking really hard about something.  “Though, I suppose I do owe you some kind of apology for being nosy…”

“You suppose?”  Kuroo deadpanned.

“Ah!”  Suga snapped his fingers before leaning back.  “Iwaizumi, are you working tomorrow?”

Iwaizumi frowned from behind the counter.  “Yes…?”

“Oh, good.”  Suga stood up, his cup somehow already empty.  “I have to be at the airport at ten o’clock at night to pick up Yaku, I’ll need coffee for sure.”  He slapped a purple sticky note on the table beside Kuroo’s cup as he passed. “See you later!”

Kuroo smirked as he read over the information scrawled on the sticky note, the name of the airport and which flight it would be - topped off with a little chibi winky face and “You Owe Me!”

_Definitely a snake._

. . .

Kuroo had gone over this so many times, what he should do when he reached the airport, what he should do when he saw Yaku - he’d ironed it out into a solid, fool-proof plan that he was almost certain would _not_ get him kicked in the throat.

Unfortunately all of those well-thought out, airtight plans went straight out the window as soon as he caught sight of Yaku’s messy strawberry-brunette hair.  Honestly, he looked like hell: there were bags under his eyes and his hair stuck up in every direction, his carry-on was sliding off his shoulder, dragging the collar of his t-shirt with it and it was obvious that he would sooner strangle someone than have a proper conversation - and he was, to Kuroo, in that moment, almost unbearably precious.

He cleared the space between them in six long strides, not even taking the time to appreciate the way Yaku’s tired brown eyes stretched wide in shock, his mouth opening and closing as he staggered back a few steps.  “K-Kuroo?!”

Kuroo caught the hand Yaku started to lift - more than likely with the intent to chop into his ribs - and tugged him close, keeping hold of his fingers as his other hand lifted to cup Yaku’s cheek again.  Before he could object, before he could yell or kick or run away, Kuroo ducked his head and claimed Yaku’s lips. It was a brief contact, no more than a brush, but it stole Kuroo’s breath all the same, and the faint taste of strawberry chapstick lingered as he pulled back.

“I’m not sorry,” Kuroo squeezed Yaku’s hand a little more tightly.  “Not for trying to kiss you before winter break started, or for kissing you now.  I’m as scared as you are, Yakkun, but… I don’t want to be your friend and former-teammate any more.  I want to be _more_.”

Yaku blinked up at him, the dazed look in his eyes slowly melting and cooling into something far less soft and approachable.  Kuroo didn’t even realize Yaku had moved until his clenched fist was buried between his ribs, causing the tall middle blocker to double over with a pained cough.  “Don’t say embarrassing things in the middle of the airport, you sappy fuck,” Yaku growled under his breath.

“S-sorry,” Kuroo wheezed, trying to straighten despite the pain in his abdomen as Yaku withdrew his hand.  “But…”

Yaku cut him off with a quick, startlingly soft kiss of his own.  “I want you to be more, too,” he sighed gently as he pulled back, “but…”

“But…?”  Kuroo’s heart slammed into double time, his pain immediately forgotten.

“I’ve accepted a year-long internship in Rome.”

. . .

“...oh how it would be easier to climb a mountain.” -Wanderer


End file.
